MossKissed Swing
by MysticHakai24
Summary: That childhood swing was a place of comfort to Legolas, for it was the spot of his first meeting with Estel. Yet will the ancient swing still soothe him if it was Estel and the entire Fellowship who brought him unintentional pain? DEATHFIC


Moss-kissed Swing  
  
Disclaimer: All characters belong to J.R.R. Tolkien.  
  
Summary: That childhood swing in the forests of Imladris was a place of comfort to Legolas, for it was the spot of his first meeting with Estel. Yet will the ancient swing still soothe him if it was Estel and the entire Fellowship who brought him unintentional pain?  
  
*  
  
Sitting upon a wooden chair, pale face cupped in his hands, sat Legolas, Prince of Mirkwood and son of Thranduil King. His face was fair, even when swollen by tears, gentle emerald eyes, a gaunt face, and creases near his rosy lips from smiling too much. His braided hair was longish, bright like the sun and as soft as cotton.  
  
The Elf's face was leaking with drops of salty tears, tiny sniffles, and an unbelieving mind. Two twin beds were side-to-side before him, containing two small children-like beings. Upon the closest bed was Meridadoc Brandybuck, commonly known as Merry. His face was peaceful, eyelids partly opened to reveal innocent chocolates. His lips were parted slightly, yet they drew no breath.  
  
Upon the bed on the other side lie Peregrin Took, Pippin to Legolas, who stared at the bright white ceiling, trying to feign eternal sleep as his greatest friend had been given. His right hand clutched Merry's, the warmness from his body clung to the emptiness that Merry owned. Pippin's other hand clutched his arm, as if willing it to stop its beating. The Hobbit was already dead to everyone, yet he was very-much alive. Pippin refused to enjoy life without his friend, and in turn, he had emptied to a bed for days, denying any form of food, drink, or comfort.  
  
Legolas felt like Pippin did: empty, lost, cold, and never-returning. How he wished to just lie down and take his last breath, leave this world forever. Or he could sail west to return to his kin, but would that bring back his friends, the Fellowship? Frodo Baggins and Samwise Gamgee had already left the shore, Merry had parted and Pippin was as good as dead. Boromir had been slaughtered valiantly and Gandalf had left with Frodo and Sam. Gimli was waiting, grey hair mixed with red. And Aragorn, always Estel to Legolas, was grieving at heart.  
  
// A warm emotion is what I lack, So forget my birth and send me back. //  
  
From Gondor, Legolas fled to Imladris to find comfort in the nearest Elvin home. Hardly any of his kin still resided there, if any at all. They had all left and sailed to the west. Legolas took in the buildings, gentle stables, halls and corridors of ancient times; each thing was a reminiscent of the Firstborn, the Elves. They were leaving; Legolas could not recall any other than he and Lady Arwen, betrothed to Estel and daughter of Lord Elrond, who had not parted yet.  
  
Legolas sighed. All his friends were gone, save a special few. But they too were leaving this world soon. Lady Arwen would remain in Middle- Earth for all eternity. Legolas knew not what he would do.  
  
The trees around Imladris were growing taller and shabbier, darkness filling the crooks between branches. The roots were aroused and tripping uncareful folk. It reflected Legolas' mood almost perfectly, a little darker, grimmer, and more bewilderment would link the two together like twins. For Legolas could not help but feel lonesome in the dark woods.  
  
As each day passed, the Elf lingered farther from Imladris, towards Gondor once more, but would he like to leave his peaceful surroundings only to witness the death on the faces of his friends? No. There was no one left for Legolas. No one to calm him, comfort him, no one to laugh with, although these were not the times to be joyful.  
  
Who was there to just 'be' with him?  
  
Nobody.  
  
// Living a life without that 'one'- Hurts more than burning my skin with the sun. //  
  
Legolas suddenly witnessed a break of light among the darkness he had been lost in for days. Was this it? His time to come? Was grief controlling him? Legolas ran forward, anticipating it, wanting it... But it was not there. Instead there was a clearing with trees dispersed except the one in the center standing in solitude.  
  
This tree was very different. Teal spikes in the branches, normal upraised roots, and one branch holding out a hand. Tied to the holding branch were four thick stings of moss, encircling a piece of rusty wood at the bottom. The simplicity of it was enchanting.  
  
When the Elf saw it he laughed. How many years had gone by since Legolas had found this swing? Perhaps two-hundred years, two centuries? He had been in the same trance, unbelieving, pain-filled, suicidal, when he had first met this childish swing. But the true happiness he had from the toy was the gift he received with the swing, a person that fulfilled his dreams' greatest wish.  
  
A friend.  
  
// But who could say, this childish toy Could reunite me with my dreams' joy? //  
  
Two centuries before, Legolas had come, delivering a message from his father, Thranduil King of Mirkwood to the Lord Elrond of Imladris. It had been only his second time to Imladris, with no escort either. Legolas had left secretly, prepared to surprise his father's friend, but he had been bemused and gotten lost.  
  
Days after his absence, he came upon the same swing. It looked nor newer or different. There was no comparison that could be put between the two present and past toys. Legolas, in need of comfort and rest, sat upon the swing, slightly swaying forward and back. He meant not to go too high, moss was not logical to hold something up, but at the time Legolas was too weary.  
  
"Who goes there?" came a voice, still forever and deep.  
  
Legolas had turned his head and seen a boy no older than ten-to- twenty. His face was rugged, trimmed beard, lanky coffee-hair, grey eyes, and a presence and sense that this man was no Elf. He was, as described, a Man living in Imladris.  
  
They went through introductions. The Man was Estel, foster-son of Lord Elrond. He was also brother to Elladan and Elrohir, as well as fair Arwen.  
  
Since it was coming to night, the forests became ungradually darker, a hand before his eyes he would still be unable to see. Legolas was beyond being drowsy now. His legs were well rested and he felt calm. Although, he felt a little too warm for his own good.  
  
Then there came air and the ground was farther away then before. As Legolas went back, two hands pressed onto his spine, pushing him forward again. Legolas laughed, a sound of bells while Estel laughed along too, the two sounds became melodious through the night -  
  
His first friend.  
  
// A friend I had pleaded, I friend I receive - A person who promised to never hurt me. //  
  
Present-day Legolas returned to Gondor, his heart feeling slightly better after some rocking on the swing. He felt more at peace. Yet he saw many people in Gondor dressed in black or dark attire. This troubled him. Legolas easily entered the castle. The guards knew him.  
  
The corridors held no torches or candles. There was no hassling from behind-servants. No strolling from guards. Legolas knew something was wrong, there had to be, it was the only thing that could make the hallways silent. And the fact that almost everyone was clothed in black made his heart beat furiously: black was the colour of mourning. Was someone dead?  
  
Legolas ran through the corridor, all the way to the western towers where he spotted some elderly priests, each giving blessings. Incense wavered, making Legolas sneeze. It announced his presence. In a spot where the curtains of a window were pulled shut, Lady Arwen was weeping, she held a hand, rough and paler than death. Legolas came forward.  
  
"They have passed," Arwen choked. "Each one of them."  
  
Legolas embraced her lovingly. "Yes, blessed Evenstar, and may they rest in eternal peace," he whispered, heartbroken.  
  
// But this person who swore by his life Hurt me the most and sent me to strife. //  
  
The priests were sent away. Lady Arwen departed to her own room to grieve. Legolas replaced her in the chair. He sat, completely stiff without the sign of lamenting or tears. Upon the beds three were the two Hobbits, Merry looked the same as he had before Legolas had run to Imladris. His sheets were changed though, Legolas shook his head. How horrible for a living being to even think about blanketing a passed hero so he could not be seen!  
  
Pippin had finally drawn his final breath but a few hours before Legolas had arrived. His eyes were shut, a few tears still on his clammy cheeks. He was still fully clothed in the outfit he wore days ago. No bedspread censored him.  
  
Finally, on the last cot lie a kingly figure, his hair was combed and hands were gently folded upon his torso. There lie Aragorn son of Arathorn, Elessar King of Gondor. But to Legolas, it was Estel, the Elven friend he had bonded with so long ago.  
  
Legolas reached out to touch the man's face. He carefully turned the lips up, to see a smile, but as soon as he removed his hands, it dispersed back to a mere line of solemnity. Finally , Legolas broke down and wept for the death of two valiant Hobbits who had done more in their life than a normal Elf had done in eternity, and for the King of Gondor who had been perhaps the noblest of all beings upon the land, and finally, for the Fellowship. He sobbed more when he recalled never saying a farewell to his friends.  
  
Someone entered the room. Legolas needed not look up to see whom it was.  
  
"You know this was not their burden to give you," the being said roughly, but as it was lighter than his normal voice, Legolas knew that the other was hurting too.  
  
"Will you wound me like this too, will I witness your passing too, friend? Gimli, son of Gloin?" Legolas managed to murmur as he held out his arms and the Dwarf showed no shame at his tears suddenly streaming. They embraced longingly.  
  
"You know fate," Gimli muttered.  
  
Legolas nodded. "I know, friend. And I-I forgive you."  
  
// It was not his fault, he would never lie. He hadn't meant to be mortal and die. //  
  
Legolas ran for the forests of Imladris once more. It took him two days, but he found the small clearing with the solitary tree and its treasured swing. Legolas caressed it lightly. He rode on it, humming to himself a song that Estel had taught him so many years ago.  
  
Such strange and queer are these folk,  
These comrades, friends, these pals.  
Forever binding, clinging on  
Eternal love they vow.  
  
Gifts mean nothing to them,  
Hugs bring ever-loving smiles.  
And each day they have a promise made  
That lasts for years and miles.  
  
Legolas sighed as he forgot the remaining verses. Yet he remembered their joys as they sung different songs many under trees, stars, and sun. He tilted his head and finally he saw an engraving upon the tree. It was fairly bright and aqua, like the seas. It seemed almost impossible for Legolas to have missed these words. But they were here and they read like this:  
  
Dedicated to those who will never find true love:  
We hope that by this toy, you will be granted  
At least one happiness in your life.  
  
// I enjoyed the time with this friend that I met... //  
  
Legolas was weeping once more, this time with Gimli in Lothlorien. There lie a grave with the words: Arwen, Evenstar of Imladris and Lothlorien, Lovely Wife of Elessar King of Gondor, rest in peace.  
  
The two gave their blessings and moved on.  
  
"Be at peace, my friend," Gimli said slowly, walking slowly. "I will definitely not be able to pass away to eternal rest if I continue to see you so distressed like this."  
  
(Then never shall you pass,) Legolas thought grimly. But he said to the Dwarf-friend, "I know a way to bring you to harmony and gladness once before you d-die."  
  
"How is this so?" Gimli inquired, surprised with his friend.  
  
"Let us travel west, where I shall meet my fellow immortal kin and you shall once more set eyes upon fair Lady Galadriel," Legolas suggested.  
  
Gimli laughed. "A wise choice, my friend. All right, let us go where no Dwarf has given foot upon until now!"  
  
Legolas joined in the laughing, but he remained miserable.  
  
*  
  
Time was difficult to tell in the Valinor. Yet Legolas knew it had been a few years. He sat at the edge of a bedside, like he had many times during the past century. This time he held the hand of the ever-courageous Dwarf-friend Gimli.  
  
"I am sorry, Elf, for casting this pain upon you," Gimli sighed as he had given a large amount of energy to speak that sentence.  
  
"Speak not, Gimli," Legolas whispered, his eyes brimmed with tears threatening to fall. "I knew not that one could pass in the Valinor."  
  
"I am but a Dwarf, you are an Elf. Dwarves were never meant to live eternally," Gimli coughed out. "I am sorry that I had given you more to weep over, friend, but I want a promise."  
  
"Say no more, but this promise I shall grant, what may it be?" Legolas murmured.  
  
"Die not of grief, I plead. Give enough time to enjoy your immortal life a little. Die not," Gimli implored.  
  
Legolas chuckled hollowly. "Each of the Fellowship had made me promise the same thing." He sighed and stared into Gimli's eyes. "Gimli, son of Gloin, I will never forget your dearness and friendship you had shown me in my time of need."  
  
Gimli coughed and he spoke once more, his voice fading with each breath he took. "Do-Do not be grateful to-to me, Le-Legolas, instead, be for-e-ever ch..." His hand fell onto the bedspread. "Lo-" And he could converse no more.  
  
"Sleep well, may the Valar watch over you," Legolas whispered, leaning over to kiss the Dwarf's forehead.  
  
"You are brave beyond many, Legolas."  
  
Legolas wiped away his tears. "Tis untrue, dear Mithrandir."  
  
Gandalf smiled sadly. "Bolder than most Elves. You let your tears flow easily while many hold them back in shame."  
  
"It is not of my doing, I can do nothing to stop the tears," Legolas said softly.  
  
"But you have witnessed the death of many friends and have humbled. Take not your life, my friend, or those who have given their last breath to speak to you would have died in vain."  
  
Legolas sighed.  
  
"Care for a walk? To let it out?" Gandalf stretched his hand.  
  
Legolas stared at the wrinkled hand, then back at the grey-bearded Dwarf. "Why not," he murmured and Legolas took the hand.  
  
// ...I'm not ready to let go of our memories yet. //  
  
That had been many decades before. While none of the Elves could ever overlook the most valiant people of the time, they each admired the fair Prince Legolas of Mirkwood who had remained faithful to each of his promises with the help of Mithrandir, or Gandalf.  
  
Death had forever made his heart almost cheerless. But he remained. And whenever one would look at this beautiful Elf, they saw not only the Prince Legolas, but also, with the exception of Mithrandir, the entire Fellowship. And that is what Legolas hoped would happen.  
  
He would live the life that the others of the Fellowship had never been privileged to. And with that choice, the Fellowship were living in him, neither dead or alive, but cheering him on.  
  
// END //  
  
*  
  
Author's Notes: Hi there, I hope you liked the story. The poems might be a little crappy, but I tried! I hope you enjoyed this story and I also hope I got all the facts right. Gimli died when he was 252 right? And Aragorn when he was 210?  
  
Anyway, I hope you will review and I promise a new chapter of my other stories soon! I just figured out how to work it out! Thank you!  
  
* 


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